


Back to Where We Were

by littletechiebird



Series: Amnesia-verse [1]
Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 08:12:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletechiebird/pseuds/littletechiebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a matter of trying to gain understanding on each side. There’s such a gap between either side to know what should be said, what should be done. It’s something that’s gained with friendship, but to have that be immediately cut on one side, it’s hard to gain a feel of where things remain. Tim doesn’t know what to ask, when he doesn’t know just what he’s missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to Where We Were

It was impossible to miss the feeling of everyone around him walking on eggshells. They were trying to be so careful of him, with him, just to make sure he wouldn’t get upset, or maybe it was that they feared he would break in more ways than he already had. It was frustrating. He didn’t see himself as fragile. After all, the events that led to this hadn’t been minor. It had taken a lot to get him like this, to take things this far -- or so he’d heard.

 

That was enough to make a shiver run down his spine, but he didn’t say a thing.

 

“You alright?”

 

Looking up, he realized that he had almost forgotten that Conner was over. He came just about every day, which was something that quite a few people had been quietly arguing with him about -- mostly his own overbearing family. He knew, or had at least been able to tell, that they were just trying to think of his best interests. Tim didn’t see a problem with having him there. Anymore, it didn’t really matter who was there. They all treated like he was made of porcelain, or maybe tissue paper. He wished he could tell them, just make them understand that just because he couldn’t remember who they were, what they meant to him, or even his own likes and dislikes, it didn’t mean he was incapable. 

 

This brought him to understanding that he, himself, was at least a bit stubborn and hardheaded.

 

But he knew that saying that would likely cause a new misunderstanding where they might believe he was mad at them or outright offended, which was in no way the case.

 

So evidently he was capable of being considerate and trying to put others first.

 

“I’m fine. Just a cold chill.” Glancing up to meet those bright blue eyes was hard to do for more than a few seconds at most before he had to look away. Those eyes were waiting, wondering, watchful. He understood why and wouldn’t blame Conner for a minute for a bit of that. Even so, he also would never try to say it was easy to face. Conner wasn’t the only one who watched him that way. He’d seen the same look in Dick’s eyes. Though he supposed it made sense for his brother and best friend to be the ones to be so eager. 

 

“Oh. You cold?”

 

“No.” He could practically feel Conner’s puzzled expression form.

 

“I could change the thermostat.”

 

“It’s fine.” There was a pause that told him Conner wasn’t quite sure what to do or say, and that he was suddenly quite complacent. Maybe it had something to do with his short answers, and tiny little white lie. Sometimes he swore Conner could sense them. Maybe the reason it bothered him, just a little, was the idea that someone knew him better than he knew himself and he had no chance of saying the same in turn. He just tried to continue to remind himself that this was only temporary. It had to be temporary because he would not be able to stand the looks, the discussion of memories and events that he didn’t have, and the tiptoeing around him. He may not have remembered what it felt like to be normal, his normal, but he knew he wanted it.

 

“Oh uh... okay.”

 

Yes, there was that uncertainty. It made him feel bad that he seemed to be so good at cutting that eagerness out of the other male’s voice like that. It was never something he really meant to do, or set out to do. Conner was always to eager to help. There were moments like these which caused him to wonder if maybe his thinking was that if he tried hard enough, wanted it enough, that maybe Tim would just miraculously remember. Maybe that was why he tried so hard. Maybe that was what he was missing here, because there always seemed to be one thing out of place when it came to Conner and himself. He had just never been able to figure out what that one thing was or even could be. Even this most recent guess didn’t seem to fit quite right. In actuality, he believed it might have made his question worse. 

 

Letting himself sit down, he shifted and let his body as a whole be draped over the couch with his head falling back to rest against the arm of the couch. A split second of a glance to Conner’s face told him this might have been unlike him to do. Then he also realized he might have been relying on other people’s reactions to his own actions a little too much, but he’d been unconsciously convinced it might teach him something or help him remember. It had done nothing so far except maybe have him feel somewhat self-conscious.

 

“You know... Despite everything else, it is kinda good to not see you working yourself to death.” 

 

Eyes that had fallen closed peeked open again to see a nervous but soft and fond smile. There was something sad and faraway about it. Tim could only guess that it had to be because he was remembering how it had been, and knew that it wasn’t how things were now, and that maybe he missed the person that was in that memory. Maybe it was because he felt helpless in getting that person back. Conner wasn’t the only one. Maybe he was wrong to think so, but that just made him think that statement had only been half true.

 

There was a small smile of his own that pulled at his lips as he began to respond honestly. He didn’t know if it was perhaps unfair to say, but in moments like this he didn’t know how to be anything but honest. “It’s because I don’t know what to do anymore.” Maybe if he knew what he should have been working on, what he was supposed to be doing, what he knew how to do, maybe he could have tried to do it. 

 

Flash through a moment of guilt where Conner looks like he wants to hit himself -- which Tim actually feels bad for because it wasn’t what he had meant to do with that one honest statement -- before he’s scrambling for something or anything to say or do. 

 

“I.. uh..” His head and eyes are going from side to side to scan for his answer and saving grace. He found that solution in the small, dark, bound book that sat on the bottom shelf of the coffee table that stood between them. “This!” He exclaimed as he scooped the book up and offered it to Tim. It was clear as they both looked at it that it had not been touched for quite a while, the evidence in that being the way a thin layer of dust gave way to where Conner’s fingers came to rest. 

 

“A book?” Tim asked as he sat up, his feet swinging over the side of the couch for his feet to touch the floor. 

 

“Yep! It’s a scrapbook. I think Steph made it for you last year as a birthday present.”

 

Steph.  
Stephanie.  
Stephanie Brown, to be more specific. 

 

She had come over a few times to check on him as well. Thinking about it now, he couldn’t say that her eyes had looked much different than Dick’s or Conner’s.

 

“Oh.” Taking the book into his own hands, he stared at the blank, dark cover for a moment before he even made a move to open it. A scrapbook could give him clues to what he so desperately wanted to remember. For what everyone else so desperately wanted him to remember. He was glad for the clues, but they were also hard to take. Each thing he had hoped to give him his answers and maybe give him his final solution, they only made him ache all the more for what he could not seem to recover. Stopping from trying, or avoiding these things would never help him get further and he knew that much.

 

Turning the cover and to the first page, he felt Conner sit beside him. He didn’t look to him, but a part of his brain was momentarily distracted by the dip in the couch that brought the cushion to shift against his leg. He stared at the first picture blankly, and he could feel Conner’s anticipation, hoping, waiting, praying that Tim would say something that might betray progress. 

 

“That was when we first formed the group. They started calling us “Young Justice” before we even knew what to call ourselves. We both blamed Bart for the name, but it didn’t actually turn out to be so bad.”

 

Again he felt eyes on him, eyes that waited to hear confirmation of what he had said. Tim could offer no such thing. 

 

They paused for a few moments more before Conner was the one to turn the page. There were several from their Young Justice days before they reached their next era.

 

“We had another team too. The Titans. That had pretty much been our goal anyway, though I’m not so sure we even knew it. You always seemed to have a much better idea of what you were doing and what you wanted. I think the rest of us really envied that about you. It’s probably why you’ve always ended up as the leader.”

 

The meta was smiling so fondly. He was reliving every single memory that he spoke of, every memory pictured, and maybe a few more. Tim would have loved to relive those memories with him, but he still remained in a blank state, staring at the pictures as if they did not belong to or pertain to him. He found it hard to even recognize his own face in the pictures. He did not know the person in that picture. He did not understand what he was feeling, and he could not recognize the emotions that played out on the faces of the young boys. 

 

But when Conner spoke, it began to sound so desperate. Tim could recognize how he was begging for Tim to remember, to share this with him. He was begging for this person, this shell, to give way to the person he had come to “replace”. 

 

Tim wanted nothing more.. 

But what could he do?

 

He knew no matter how hard Conner was trying to hide it, he could watch his heart break in his eyes as he glanced to the side to see him staring at that photo before them now. It was Conner, though he was a bit younger, his hair was different, and he dressed a bit.. flashier. An arm was wrapped tightly around Tim’s own shoulders to drag him close. Tim knew it was himself, but it felt more like a stranger. That stranger seemed irritated and like he was pushing away but.. what else? After all, if that was so, would Conner really be wishing so hard to bring that moment back?

 

Tim could do nothing but close the photo album and put it back into its place on the coffee table. As irrational as it was, he was currently blaming and being bitter towards the album itself. Conner didn’t seem to notice a thing as Tim tried to get rid of the book as if it would burn or offend him if he kept it closer to him than it’s original placement.

 

Those blue eyes were wounded just as much as they had been, or maybe more so, the first time he’d seen him -- that he could now remember. When he’d asked who he was, had so clearly, and unintentionally, rejected him.. He still felt awful for it. But this was worse because he knew, for the most part, what Conner should have meant to him. He was putting his best friend through hell, and others too. Even so, right now he was only seeing the meta that sat before him. His heart was broken, aching, and continually being stomped on by Tim. 

 

How could he fix this?

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Those two little words that hung so heavily seemed to cut through the thoughts of the male beside him that had been silent and lost in his own world of memories. Conner looked at him, and seemed to gain an understanding of his own. He understood how the moment had backfired on Tim too. Conner began to blame himself, not that Tim was paying attention to that detail. So Conner began to blame himself because he had been the one to grab the book. Somehow, he had thought it was going to be a good idea or that it might help somehow.

 

They both wished that it had.

 

“I’m sorry I can’t remember all of this. I want to. I want to know what to do with myself. I want to know who I see every day. I want to know what all of you are talking about and what was going on in those pictures, but I can’t and I don’t.”

 

The moment was left silent, Conner was left speechless. From where he sat just a foot or so from Tim, he reached out to him before Tim stood and backed away from the couch and the man who still sat there. Tim didn’t know what to do. He did, in fact, know that how he was reacting now wasn’t exactly doing anything good. If he had learned just one thing, then he had learned that Conner was probably someone with the biggest heart he would ever have the chance to meet. He was honest, and Tim could read him even without knowing him as well as he had before. Maybe that was why he felt so incredibly helpless now. He was responsible for the pain that he could see written all over his face and hear in his voice. 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

There was no chance of hearing himself anymore. He didn’t know how loud he was being, or maybe if he had spoken at all. He didn’t know if he sounded angry, or if his voice was breaking under the weight of the words he was, at the very least, attempting to say.

 

Tim did come to notice that he had shut his eyes tightly at some point, and did manage to peek beyond the lids again to see that somehow, the feeling in the room had changed, and so had Conner’s demeanor. Nothing was said, the meta just patted the spot that Tim had been sitting in moments before. Or perhaps, had it been a little longer? There was no point in lingering on the thought to try and figure it out. It was only a few seconds more before he was able to bring himself to return to his place beside him. 

 

“I know you don’t remember. I know you’re trying. So it’s fine. There was a time where we didn’t know anything before about each other. So we’ll start again.”

 

For the first time tonight, Tim was stunned.. and it wasn’t because he didn’t know what memory it should have applied to, or what he was supposed to say. He just never thought that this was a possibility and now that it was, he was just wondering if something like this was fair to Conner.

 

“Kon..”

 

That seemed to be a good start, because the name alone made the meta practically start to shine. Tim found it easier to smile in that moment too.

 

“So what should I know?”

 

Conner seemed almost amused by the question. “What do you _want_ to know?” He countered. 

 

“Everything.”

 

With hesitation, Conner reached for the album again. Tim made no objection towards the movement, so he pulled it back to settle in their laps again, starting from the beginning. 

 

“So,  you know Bart, right?”

 

“As much as I know everyone else.” Tim said it with a chuckle. He needed to make light of it. It would be easier for himself, but even more so for Conner.

 

“Right. Well he was the only other part of our group when we started in Young Justice. We pretty much only started it because we thought we were so ready to be on our own...”

 

Tim sat attentively, looking between the album and Conner as he retold their memories as a story he could understand, imagine, and maybe bring to life in his own mind as a substitution for what he had lost.


End file.
